


The Absence of Fear

by grim_lupine



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grim_lupine/pseuds/grim_lupine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the unobservant, ill-informed eye, Daniel Coward would appear to be nothing more than a foolish wealthy young man, made soft by his riches; others see his arresting features, more beautiful than is appropriate for a man, and they dismiss him as no danger. Only a select few see the whip-crack cunning mind that lurks beneath that benign surface. Only a few realize the intelligence and menace that Coward can call up. Blackwood has never been fooled. It is one of the reasons they are nearly inseparable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Absence of Fear

-

\--

“So fearful,” Blackwood muses aloud, watching from afar as the other members of the Order mill about, looking at him uneasily every few minutes or so. “They try so desperately to hide it beneath their bluster and bravado, but I terrify them.”

At his side, Coward shifts slightly, leaning so that his hip rests against the back of Blackwood’s chair; it is a subtle declaration that his place is with Blackwood, far closer than any other person could ever hope to be. His face is blank, a politician’s mask, but Blackwood can see the amusement and contempt settled at the corners of his mouth.

“Not you, though, Daniel,” Blackwood continues in the same conversational tone. “I’ve never frightened you, have I?”

Coward meets his gaze, eyes bold and hot. “You are the most powerful man I know,” he murmurs, for Blackwood’s ears only. “Brilliant, commanding; I have seen the effect you have on those weaker than you. I see how they tremble before you. There isn’t a person in the world I respect more.”

Slowly, his hand falls from where it has been resting atop the chair’s back, and lightly grazes Blackwood’s neck; his touch is sure, warm, unseen by anyone else. Coward runs his thumb back-and-forth against Blackwood’s skin, nail scraping gently. It’s a proprietary touch, but Coward has the right.

“But fear?” Coward continues softly, voice husky. “No. That isn’t what you get from me, Henry. That isn’t why I follow you.”

“But follow me you do,” Blackwood says. It isn’t a question.

Coward smiles, slight, with a hint of teeth. Blackwood knows the sting of those teeth on his own flesh, and the soothing press of the full lips behind which they hide. Indeed, that could describe Coward himself perfectly—to the unobservant, ill-informed eye, Daniel Coward would appear to be nothing more than a foolish wealthy young man, made soft by his riches; others see his arresting features, more beautiful than is appropriate for a man, and they dismiss him as no danger. Only a select few see the whip-crack cunning mind that lurks beneath that benign surface. Only a few realize the intelligence and menace that Coward can call up.

Blackwood has never been fooled. It is one of the reasons they are nearly inseparable.

“Always,” Coward says, leaning infinitesimally closer until his breath washes hotly over Blackwood’s ear. “My loyalty is the one thing in this world you will never have to doubt, my lord.”

“I have never doubted it for a second,” Blackwood says with the honesty he only affords Coward, and Coward draws back with a satisfied smile, before schooling his face into blankness once more; he makes his way toward the rest of the Order, ready to cajole them and lead them into following Blackwood’s plans.

Always, always, he is in tune with Blackwood’s plans. Blackwood’s man to the end.

*

“I suppose—it’s that I have known you for so long,” Coward manages to say as Blackwood bites the hollow in his throat sharply; Blackwood can feel the vibrating of his words under his lips, and he bites again, harder, because he knows Coward can take it. Coward will welcome it. Blackwood need not be careful with him. He pulls back and studies the mark he has left there, knows it will be vivid and purple by the next morning; Coward will have to wear his cloak all day to hide it, and all day Blackwood will know what he is hiding. “I know you like no other; I know who you are,” Coward continues, somehow astoundingly coherent though his hands are busy divesting Blackwood of his clothing.

“Daniel, if I am boring you, I can take myself elsewhere for the night,” Blackwood says coolly, and watches with satisfaction as Coward’s eyes flash; he knows Blackwood would do it, too. Coward is not afraid of him, but Blackwood has a definite power to wound him, and would not hesitate to use it if he thought Coward was becoming too complacent. Blackwood has no need of whores (or those women who purport to be high-bred, but become little more than whores when he whispers endearments in their ear and kisses them to a breathless passion) as long as he has Coward, willing and eager, whose touch is almost as familiar to him after all this time as the touch of his own hand. He has no need of women, but he will not let Coward know that; to reveal that information would afford Coward far too much power over him, and Blackwood cannot let that happen. A leader of true power cannot set his heart in the hands of another.

Coward kisses him with more teeth than tongue, biting his mouth sharply and joining them together until the need for air becomes too great. He says, half with apology, half with an irritating complacency, “I am merely trying to tell you why it is I do not fear you.”

Blackwood has had enough. Baring his teeth in a silent growl, he shoves Coward backward until his back hits the wall forcefully, head slamming against the unforgiving stone. He braces his right arm against Coward’s throat, presses forward, watching as Coward’s eyes widen and his breath hitches. “Do you not fear me, then, Daniel?” he asks in a low hiss, curling his free hand around the jutting curve of Coward’s hip, digging in with his blunt nails. “Perhaps that is unwise.”

Coward wets his lips, tongue flicking out lewdly and calling Blackwood’s attention to his red, whorish mouth. “No, I do not _fear_ you, Henry,” Coward says pointedly, flattening his palms against the wall behind him and rocking his hips against Blackwood’s thigh. His cock is hard and Blackwood’s hands itch with the desire to tear away his trousers and stroke him until he is gasping and pleading for more, until he has lost all traces of that damn composure of his. Experimentally, he presses down on Coward’s throat a touch more, forces his head even further back against the wall, and watches as Coward’s eyes go dark and hungry.

No, not fear at all.

(There is a part of him that thinks _damn him_ for that, but a larger part of him needs that regard. Every other person who follows him does so out of fear and blind stupidity; they believe in his mythos, his supernatural mysticism that is nothing more than the application of science. There is no one who sees him for who he is, except Coward; and that is why Blackwood needs him. Coward truly sees him and follows him with even more devotion than those sheep who think themselves guardians of this world. He believes in the man and not the god, and that makes his loyalty even sweeter.)

Damn him anyway, for making Blackwood need him at all.

“Please,” Coward breathes, a concession of sorts; he will submit, he will beg, that is no difficulty for him. It will get him what he wants and it keeps that fragile illusion that Blackwood is entirely in charge. “Please,” Coward says again, hands reaching out to splay across Blackwood’s chest, and Blackwood snaps, surges forward to fuse their mouths together and hold Coward there like he is sucking the very soul from his body.

Always, at the back of his mind, is the knowledge that—here, at least—his illusion of power is just that—an illusion. Every surrender on Coward’s part is calculated; but it is not malicious in nature. It is intended to keep their illusion intact, so that Blackwood may keep Coward at his side without fearing for his own sanity.

It is enough. It will have to be.

*

Afterward, sated, Coward’s stomach coated with his own seed and his lips bitten raw, he lets his head fall lightly onto Blackwood’s shoulder. Blackwood traces the curve of his spine with one finger, mouth quirking amusedly as Coward shivers and spreads his legs further, wordlessly enticing Blackwood to explore Coward’s slick, used hole. Blackwood presses two fingers in with ease, considers how easy it would be now to enter Coward with four fingers, perhaps even his hand; as if reading his thoughts, Coward thrusts himself backward onto Blackwood’s fingers, still breathing shakily.

Blackwood pulls his fingers out sharply, without warning, smirking with cool pleasure at the gasp Coward can’t contain. Some reactions Coward cannot control; good. Let him realize that his control would be better left at the threshold of Blackwood’s room.

“They fear you because they think you a god,” Coward says suddenly, abruptly, and Blackwood’s eyebrows snap together in displeasure. _Still_ Coward’s mind is on their earlier conversation, even after Blackwood pushed him down upon his hands and knees and impaled him from behind, even after Coward moaned and gasped for more like the lewdest whore the world had to offer. Blackwood goes to speak, but something in Coward’s eyes stills him. Something that says that this conversation is important. “They follow your word because they think you something otherworldly, capable of supernatural feats,” Coward continues, mouth twisted in contemptuous amusement. He traces the line of Blackwood’s jaw with two fingers, and his voice is fervent when he says, “I know you are no god; I see the man in you. _I_ see who you are, Henry, and I would follow you to the very ends of this earth for all eternity; indeed, into the depths of whatever awaits us afterward as well.”

Blackwood breathes in, steady, looks into Coward’s eyes. There is no mistaking his sincerity.

 _Damn_ the man. Damn him for taking hold of Blackwood as thoroughly as he himself is in Blackwood’s grasp.

Coward smiles, surprisingly sweet. “A leader must be feared and revered,” he murmurs softly, “and you have that from those who know nothing of you. From me, can you settle for the latter?”

Blackwood studies him, this infuriating man who looks the part of an angel, but matches him wit for wit in this devil’s game of theirs. He fully intends to rule the world; he has no doubt that his plans will come together. There is no other alternative.

When they do, he cannot imagine having anyone but Coward at his side. With the world in his hands and Coward there with him, there is nothing that could topple him from his throne.

Nothing at all can tear them apart.

\--

-


End file.
